


Drink It Down, This Bitter-Sweet Wine

by Writegirl



Series: Fucked Up Love Songs [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Natasha Doesn't Care, Nick Fury Is A Creeper, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writegirl/pseuds/Writegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody said dating was easy, especially when you work for SHIELD.</p><p> </p><p>  <i> “Here, let me have this.” Phil took the tazer from her, warm hands enfolding her own and she realized just how cold she felt.</i><br/><i>“So, um…” she giggled, even though it wasn't funny.  Wasn't funny at all. “I guess we need to have the crazy ex-boyfriend talk, ya think?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's All Fun and Games

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third installment of Fucked Up Love Songs, my little verse where Darcy and Phil get together.

        _First apartment! I’m like officially an adult… kinda. Remind me to thank you for the reference when you get back, because getting paid for my insanity totally rocks._

        Darcy texted a series of pictures to Phil, most of them showing of her new, if still mostly empty apartment. The studio apartment was once a factory so the walls were old brick and the elevator could double as a death trap, but it had enough room for a bed, couch, and desk. So far she had the bed covered. Finally, after three years of living with roommates and dreading the eventual sexile, she had her own space. If she wanted to do a cartwheel naked in the middle of the living room, she could. 

        Speaking of. 

        “Okay, you can do this,” she prepped herself as she stripped; triple checking to make sure the blinds were drawn. There was only one audience she wanted for this video, and he was somewhere on the east coast. Darcy propped her cell phone up, using several books to get it at the right angle, then hit record. 

        “Excelsior!” 

  

        _Look at this video later. Here’s a preview._

       Phil glanced at his phone, scrolling down. Darcy sent him a picture of herself. She was upside down, he could tell that much from the fall of her hair towards the floor, but other than that all he could see was her face. He smiled, and then clicked the phone off the pay attention to the meeting. 

* * *

        Phil was moving to New Mexico. 

        Darcy stared at the text and nibbled on her bottom lip. The transfer he put in, the one he was skeptical about had gone through. He was officially moving to New Mexico at the end of the month for some top secret assignment that she wasn’t technically supposed to know about (not that she knew anything other than it was in New Mexico). He was coming back, and their long distance relationship was soon to be a short distance one. She shifted in her chair as her stomach flipped, competing with the warm feeling in her chest. Phil was coming back. 

        Two weeks after Thor, giant killer robots, and flirty Asgardians Phil had gone back to wherever SHIELD headquarters was located. “For debriefing,” was his explanation. Between then and now they’d started a relationship based on talking all night, trading likes and dislikes (sushi was a plus for both of them, he hated bar-b-q, and she couldn’t believe the man actually had a Twisted Sister greatest hits album), phone chattering during shows (Dexter and Walking Dead. When she asked if SHIELD actually had a zombie protocol he’d gone quiet, then assured her that she and Jane would be evacuated immediately in the event. Over a month later and he still hadn’t admitted that it was a joke), and discussing how SHIELD, for such a large, covert government agency, could have some of the dumbest people working for it. Case in point, the man who was supposed to replace her that Jane reduced to tears in less than a week, which was why Darcy was back in Puente Antiguo. She was breaking her own rule, allowing a one night stand (an awesome, awe inspiring, fucking _amazing_ one-night stand) to become a semi-relationship, but it was just so easy. Talking to Phil was like talking to someone she’d known all her life and she hoped that wasn’t because he’d run a thorough background check on her beforehand. 

        Still, Darcy Lewis didn’t do relationships. 

        There was the disastrous fifth grade boyfriend, and nine was really too young to learn about the emotional damage caused by cheating. Then the Junior High Incident, where she learned that large breasts didn’t equal maturity on the part of either party. High school was a collection of hit and misses, as well as discovering that chicks could be just as much a bag of dicks as guys. All in all, no relationship she entered in to lasted more than a month, two on the outside. Except for He Who Must Not Be Named, and that was next-level fucked up. By the time she started New Mexico State Darcy determined that maybe she just wasn’t the relationship kind. She could be fun, quirky, good for a great time, but not someone you tried to build something more solid than a few hours of half-drunk partying with. 

        She looked at her phone. _Transfer went through, plan on being back next week,_ stared back. 

        “Earth to Darcy! You still with me?” 

        “Hmmm?” Darcy rolled her shoulders. Jane was staring at her, which meant the scientist had been talking for a long time and she hadn’t heard a word. “Alive and kicking, boss.” 

        Jane wasn’t convinced. “You haven’t heard anything I said,” she accused. 

        “Of course I…” Jane raised the Eyebrow of Doom, and really, that was totally uncalled for. “All right, I didn’t hear anything.” 

        “Missing Agent Coulson?” 

        Darcy ducked her head. Jane was the last person she wanted to know about her…thing, but living in close quarters meant there was little room to hide anything. Just talking about him made her feel like The Worst Friend Ever. It wasn’t fair to Jane, complaining about the fact that her boyfriend was across the country when Jane’s was somewhere in the far reaches of space. At least she could call. “He said something about some kind of assignment out here.” She muttered to her hands. 

        “That’s good,” Jane settled across from her, idly brushing at a pile of crumbs. “He moves back, I don’t have to worry about walking in on you two Skyping again.” 

        Darcy felt her face flame. “You could have knocked.” 

        “On what, the floor? You were in the middle of the lab.” 

        “Yeah, well, the internet in my apartment sucks.” 

        “I would have helped rewire the building if it meant not seeing that,” Jane countered. “Electrical engineering minor, remember?” 

        Damn, she had nothing. 

        Jane was staring at her like she stared at her equations. Then her eyebrows lifted. “Oh, my God… you’re flipping out, aren’t you?” 

        “No!” Darcy jumped up. “I mean, the whole long distance thing has been working all right. Working great. What if he doesn’t like me when he has to deal with my talking through every movie in existence and my three AM popcorn cravings?” She was pacing, she hated pacing. 

        Jane reached over and gave her arm a comforting squeeze. “What if he shaves his balls in the kitchen sink?” 

        She left without another word. 

* * *

        Clint felt like he’d walked into the Twilight Zone. 

        The facility he’d been shipped to was old, older than anyone was willing to admit despite the shiny new buildings up top. His first thought was an old missile silo that had been retrofitted for Pegasus, but the more he looked, the larger he found the instillation, the less he trusted that initial assessment. The facility consisted of three four-story buildings above ground and another twenty stories beneath that extended half a mile underground away from the visible complex in a warren of tunnels and chambers. The map of the place was almost as bad as stereo instructions. 

        “No place like home,” he muttered, tossing his bag on his rack. The room wasn’t as cramped as his quarters on the Helicarrier, but it was small enough: bed, desk, dresser, and a TV stand took up most of the available space. Maybe once things settled down he’d move into an apartment. Los Felix was less than an hour away; he could get away with renting a car for the commute. He could cover it up as a legitimate expense. He was supposed to be trailing Coulson around, and the man always got to use a company car. 

        Clint took out his phone. _Room sucks,_ he sent to Natasha. _SOB._ That done he opened his itinerary. Initial briefing was scheduled at 0800, nine hours from now. Enough time to figure out where Phil was stashed. 

        The flight over was uneventful: commercial flight into Albuquerque then a two hour drive to the middle of nowhere. Literally, the middle of nowhere. They were fifty miles from anything, in any direction, and it showed. The few staff they’d run into all looked like they needed a day off, someplace where the most exciting thing wasn’t what the cafeteria was planning for dinner. 

        A quick glance through the directory and he had was he was looking for. Phil’s room was two floors up, and when Clint didn’t get a response to his knock he went to the motor pool. The car assigned to Agent Coulson was missing. He knew Phil, the man was fanatical about his wheels and the one he chose was the only one he used wherever he was on assignment. If the car was missing, Phil was missing. That confirmed he went back to Phil’s room. His keycard opened the door (at least Fury was kind enough to give him special access, facility doors were a dick to jimmy) and he slid inside. 

        Coulson’s quarters were larger than his own, but just barely. The carpet was the same slate grey; the standard issue desk had its own alcove and his TV was a hell of a lot larger than the twenty-two inch in Clint’s room. The bedroom was just as sterile: bed, bedside table, silver lamp. There were clothes in the drawers, a few suits hanging in the closet, but that was all. No sign of Phil, or that he planned on coming back anytime that night. 

        Barton strolled back to his room and took out the phone Fury gave him before they left New York. Two taps and he had access to the GPS on Phil’s phone. _Target checked in, but no longer in facility. Currently moving east along Highway 60._

* * *

        Phil ran his hand down Darcy’s shoulder, imagining the small birthmark he knew dotted the back of her shoulder blade. The Hello Kitty clock read 5:02. He needed to get up, get dressed, and get back to the research facility before 7:45. He should have stayed at the facility; he’d planned on staying at the facility until he got Darcy’s text. _Welcome back._ Two words and he packed an overnight bag and drove to Los Felix. He kissed the back of her shoulder and rolled out of bed. 

        “Phil?” Darcy’s sleepy voice followed him. 

        “Just getting up,” he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. 

        She shifted. “It’s what-the-hell-o’clock.” 

        Coulson smiled. This was the time he usually got up. “Go back to sleep, I’ll see you tonight.” 

        “Hmmm…” Darcy burrowed back under the covers. 

        He was dressed and out of the apartment at six, carrying two warm poptarts and a mug of coffee, courtesy of Darcy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone trying to place the timeline for this fic I'm ignoring the whole "Fury's Big Week" timeline that marvel put together. It just seems impossible that Iron Man II, Thor, The Incredible Hulk, and Avengers took place within a single week. This series starts in May 2011 (I chose May based on the clothes worn in Thor). Part 2 takes place between June/July, and this part takes place in August. I have a timeline worked out, and I'll probably post a link when the story's all done.

        “Phil?”

        Darcy shuffled through the arch of the kitchen doors behind him and he put down a can of navy beans. It was 3:45 according to her microwave, the apartment dark except for the under-cabinet fluorescents in the kitchen. Her arms wrapped around him from behind, forehead tucked between his shoulder blades. “What’re you doing?” The words were muffled in his back.

        “Couldn’t sleep."

        She peeked around his shoulder and took in the mostly empty cabinet in front of him, its contents arranged in a neat row on the countertop. “Are you rearranging my cabinets?”

        “Yes.” He breathed deeply and willed away the flutter in his stomach. 

        She inched her way to his front, arms never slackening, until her cheek was against his chest. “Bad dream?”

        Phil leaned down and kissed her hair. He’d been dreaming of Tehran; watching as his contact fell back, her chest exploding with the force of an unseen bullet. The look of surprise on her face as her legs went out from under her and he ducked around the side of a building, trying to identify the shooter. The seconds of quiet when he realized the sniper either had only one target, or was moving for a better angle. His fingers curled as he remembered reaching out to snatch the scarf full of disks she held. Instead of the small bundle sliding free her fingers locked around his, hazel eyes accusing. _Liar._

        “You should go back to sleep.” He ran his hands down her arms. “Dr. Foster has a meeting with SHIELD research to discuss her progress in the morning.”

        Darcy untangled herself with a shudder. “She’ll eat them alive.”

        “Which is why you need to be rested.” Jane Foster was small, but fierce. He learned that when she tried to manhandle an agent with six inches and seventy pounds on her. “I trust you'll make sure she only eviscerates the ones who deserve it.”

        Darcy disappeared behind him, and Phil hung his head. He’d finish this one cabinet, and then get back in bed. That and the one next to it, at the most.

        The sound of a cabinet door opening shook him out of his revere and he turned around. Darcy pulled two boxes of cereal out of another cabinet, followed by several cans and bags of spices. When it was empty she turned back to him.

        “So, where do you want it?”

* * *

        Clint felt like a total creeper, and there was nothing he could do about it.

        Spying was more Natasha’s bag, and she did it extremely well. The woman was amazing when it came to cloak and dagger and espionage. She could lie to a saint on Sunday with zero guilt and a completely straight face. Clint could lie if he needed to, convincingly even, but he never gained her kind of comfort with it. He was a sniper by choice and training. Give him a target and he could take it out with no collateral damage. The problem was he had a target, but he was supposed to observe and report, not neutralize. Phil wasn’t the enemy so far as he knew. He was just a man with a secret that Fury wanted, one he guarded well. 

        Phil’s behavior was normal: paperwork filed on time, overviews of all departments done twice a week. Puente Antiguo was only a preview of the way the man ran an operation. Agent Coulson was efficient, and he expected everyone beneath him to be efficient. Those who weren’t learned how. Fast. Despite the terror he unleashed on every department that lagged behind, meetings, updates, and coordinating with Fury and NASA, he managed to have something on the side.

        His own assignment, keeping an eye on everyone associated with the Tesseract, kept Clint from doing more in-depth reconnaissance on Coulson. The collection of scientists worked in bursts of inspiration that hit randomly, and when they weren’t running numbers one of the assistants was wrangling for direct access to the Tesseract. Whenever a body was in the room with it Fury wanted him there watching. If an unknown had managed to get into the Pegasus Project past both SHIELD and the DOD Clint would eat his bow, but orders were orders. It just meant he had to keep Phil on the backburner. 

        From what he was able to divine without going off campus the man slipped out every night he was able, always to the same address: an apartment complex in Los Felix. Since Coulson hadn’t put in for BAH and maintained his room at the facility Clint suspected it belonged to a girlfriend. Or boyfriend; SHIELD scuttlebutt was inconclusive either way. Records had one known SHEILD asset living in the building; a low level analyst working with Dr. Jane Foster, but he dismissed her out of hand. No one else sent up any flags. That left nine other possibles, seventeen if he was into swinging. When the other man found the time to start a relationship with someone not on base he had no idea. 

        Clint staked out the hallway leading to Coulson’s office. Tonight was one of his disappearing nights if he followed his normal schedule. Somehow he always managed to get away without the sniper noticing and it grated on his nerves. He knew Phil was slippery: the man once got himself into _and_ out of Iran without anyone, including the team already in play, being the wiser. It was insulting, how easily he evaded someone he wasn’t supposed to know was keeping track of him.

        Barton checked his watch. 7:15. Showtime.

        Phil’s door was always open unless he was dealing with a problem (read: making junior agents feel like they were five years old), and it was open now. He stuck his head in. “Heading out?”

        Phil looked up from his computer. “Everything seems to be in order, and Dr. Rennard hasn’t managed to blow up the facility.”

        Clint glanced at his watch. “Gettin’ on dinner time. Wanna head into town; see what the locals have on offer?” He shuddered. “I’m pretty sure the cafeteria food wasn’t designed for human consumption. They have green jello. Who the hell makes green jello?”

        Coulson paused. It wasn’t a long one, but it was noticeable. _Bingo._

        The agent looked down at his desk. “I was just planning on picking something up and bringing it back,” he recovered smoothly. “It’s not like I can get it delivered.”

        “I’ll come with,” Clint pushed. When Phil looked like he was going to complain he laid it on. “Please, sir. What they feed us is a crime.”

        “Sure.”

        Clint twitched internally. 

        “There’s a good Indian place in Los Felix,” Phil put on his jacket. “Their garlic naan is great.”

* * *

__

  _Something’s up._

        Darcy stared at her phone. Phil was supposed to be there fifteen minutes ago, and he was never late. 

  _Problems at work?_

        She pulled the lasagna out of the oven while she waited for a response. Her mother had enough mental issues to keep the psychiatrists of Portland in BMWs for a decade, but one thing she could do was cook and it was a skill she passed on.

    _Can’t get away. Rain check?_

_Sure. Tomorrow night?_

        It took another ten minutes for him to respond. _Sounds good. Sorry about ruining the evening._

_It’s Italian. Always better the next day._

        Darcy let the lasagna cool on the stove while she put away the rest of their dinner. The salad was already in Tupperware and only needed a top. The garlic bread wasn’t started yet, so the loaf went back into the breadbox and she stashed the garlic butter next to the salad. That done she opened her freezer. Most of her shopping was for dinner with Phil, but she had a few standbys. 

        “Looks like it’s you and me,” she groaned and pulled out a box of stuffed peppers.

        ‘Tomorrow night’ turned into two weeks later.

        The lasagna ended up being donated to Jane and Erik, who between them only technically cooked three things: eggs, bacon, and lamb. At least she thought it was lamb. She learned at an early age that when something tasted that good you just nodded and asked for seconds. Darcy tried to keep her disappointment from tainting their conversations, but it was hard. Phil never gave her specifics, it was always “problems”, “issues”, or more often just “can’t make it”. After the first week she determined to not start cooking until he was actually in her apartment. They still talked on the phone during off hours. It was just like when he was in New York, only he wasn’t in New York. He was sixty two miles away (she _may_ have checked his odometer on a few of his visits to work that out), but he might as well have been in Hong Kong.

        Keeping her lack of boyfriend away from her coworkers worked for the first three days. After that Erik and Jane started having pow-wows that went quiet whenever she approached. Another day and a half and a consensus was reached. Jane made it her mission to make sure that she didn’t go home to her empty apartment until late. She even started teaching Darcy about her research, with a lot of help from Erik. It didn’t make her a rocket scientist overnight, but it helped.

        Other than their impromptu tutoring sessions working for Jane under SHIELD was the same as working for Jane before SHIELD, with the exception that everything was backed onto a secure server that was copied every Friday. She remembered the epic battle Jane had with the black-suited techs on having her data copied, which lead to a slap fight with Agent Maria Hill (not actual slapping, but both women were red enough when it was over). Jane finally conceded when she was walked through SHIELD’s security protocols and promised she would be able to publish the portions of her data that didn’t ‘compromise national security’. The fact that Hill was able to say those three words with a straight face made her both hotter and exponentially scarier in Darcy’s estimation. 

        Once the server was copied using their super-special how- the-hell connection the data jockeys drove off, leaving Darcy and Jane alone in the lab.Erik was already gone back to New Mexico State, using the weekends to get ready for the coming school year. She was staring into space, wondering just how hard it would be to crack the encryption on the hard drive when a bottle of tequila broke into her field of view. She followed the line of the bottle up to the hand holding it.

        “Jane, didn’t we make each other promise-“

        “Shut up,” Jane plopped herself into a chair and dug through her canvas bag. In seconds she'd liberated three lemons, a paring knife, two shot glasses, and a salt shaker. “I’m willing to ignore our previous blood oath if you promise not to hit on me.”

        Darcy glanced from the bottle to her boss. Her hair was especially fly-away at the moment, eyes bright, and she was wearing a purple tanktop that brought out the color in her cheeks. “I’ll try?” 

        Jane gave her a hard look, then cracked open the bottle. “Close enough. I cleaned off the couch in the RV, so you don’t have to freeze in here tonight.”

        “What about heckle and jeckle?” Darcy tossed her head to the glass doors of the lab.

        Jane knocked back a shot. “I told them we were having a girl’s night and to stay out unless there was a fire.” Her voice was hoarse from the liquor. “And screaming.”

        Darcy thought back to her phone and the lone voicemail from Phil. _I can’t get away tonight. The boss is coming for an eyes-on and everyone is panicking. I’ll call when things quiet down._ She picked up the second shot glass. “Salut.”

* * *

        “I mean, who else am I supposed to talk to? Erik’s gone back to NMS to gear up for the semester. I had to sign a stack of confidentiality and non- disclosure statements.” Jane held her thumb and forefinger as far apart as possible. “Even if I wanted to consult with someone else I have to run it by SHIELD first, and you saw how that went. They’re barely letting me _publish_.”

        Darcy rolled her head on her shoulders. The tequila was mostly gone, the lemons a memory, and they were sitting on the roof of Jane’s lab. Sometime between opening the bottle and braving the access ladder the sun went down. The arm of the Milky Way spiraled overhead and she wondered if Thor’s planet was on it somewhere, spinning around its own sun. It was cold on the roof but the fire pit was empty, mostly because one of the agents assigned to look after Jane popped his head up and reminded them that fire and alcohol don’t mix when they tried to get one going, then stole the matches when she said ‘Screw you. Me want fire’.

        She may have had just a little too much to drink.

        “I’m not starting back at NMS in the fall.”

        “What?!” Jane bolted upright and overextended, tangled in the throw she was wearing and fell off her lawn chair. “You’re supposed to graduate this year.”

        Darcy stared up at the stars. It was something she’d thought about a lot since June. “I have a political science major. That’s pretty much the bargain basement of bachelor degrees. Plus I already have a job that pays me more than any entry level position out there.”

        “But…” Jane climbed back on her lawn chair. 

        “Plus,” Darcy held her hand up. “I had to sign all those papers, too. I can’t even talk about what I did over the summer without government A-holes climbing down my throat and threatening to arrest me.” She’d had the most amazing summer of her life: aliens, space travel, myths made real, world changing shit, and she couldn’t tell _anyone._ She hadn’t called any of her friends, hadn’t talked to anyone other than Jane or Erik or Phil in what felt like years.

        God, _Phil._

        “Darcy? Darcy…hey…”

        “I mean…” she sniffed. “You said I was the best assistant you ever had… and you’d forget to eat if I didn’t bring you food, and…”

        By the time she realized she was crying Jane was there wrapping her in a blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> BAH: Basic Allowance for Housing. i'm assuming that SHIELD works at least a little like the military and pays some portion of off-base housing for employees.


	3. Tell Me If You Love Me

        “Okay, here we go. Three steps.” 

        Darcy felt the steps with her feet, eyes half-closed against the light coming from where she was being led. Jane was strong, like elven strong, and she kept them both from crashing to the floor. A nice smooth floor; she knew because somewhere along the way she lost her shoes. She let herself be led and hummed the opening bars of Stairway to Heaven.

        Tequila was great. It was wonderful. She’d finished the bottle by herself, and damn it, she felt good. She didn’t even mind crying all over Jane. What she needed now was a joint. Darcy reached into her pants pocket and pulled out her cell, the move sending her into a wall. She ignored the way the letters swam on the screen and focused on her contacts, scrolling through the F’s. Francine always had the good stuff.

        “Sit.” Darcy went where Jane pushed and ended up on her stomach, arms folded beneath her chest, which wasn’t a good idea. She rolled to her side and opened her eyes just a little. She was lying on something soft and leathery, and across from her was… a breakfast nook? “Jane, I think I’m hallucinating.”

        There was thumping, a muttered ‘fuck’, then Jane answered. “No, you’re not. It’s the new motor home.”

        “New?”

        “They delivered it yesterday, remember?”

        Darcy tried to think back to yesterday, and then gave up. Her brain had far too much tequila in it to recall anything with clarity. “But I liked the old one,” she pouted.

        Jane’s voice was closer. “You didn’t have to live in it for two years solid. Turn over.”

        She did as ordered and felt small hands on the clasp of her jeans. Jane leaned over her, face obscured by her hair. Darcy reached down, blocking the hands with her own. “Whoa, cowgirl. Monogamous now, remember?”

        “Yeah, and you’re not sleeping in your jeans.” She brushed Darcy’s hands aside. “Phil’d kill me, and he knows where to hide the bodies.” A few tugs, and the offending material was off and draped over the table across from her.

        “He’d have to find us first,” Darcy countered. Thinking of Phil made her queasy. “We should drive to Portland. Mom’d put us up for a month, especially if we didn’t have to step foot in the house. The stars are really bright up there.” When Jane didn’t answer she opened her eyes again. The woman was nowhere in sight. “Jane?”

        She reappeared, glass in hand. “Drink.”

        A thought burst through her mind, about how she liked this new, authoritative Jane. Maybe she could invest in a leather bustier. And a ridding crop, definitely a ridding crop.

        “That’s…more than I needed to know about your sex life,” Jane giggled.

        Holy shit, was she drinking or talking?

        “Little of both?” Jane took the glass. There was water (she hoped it was water) running down her chin. She used the blanket to wipe it off, and then curled around a throw pillow.

        “Sleep,” Jane ordered, tossing the blanket over her.

        Darcy knew better than to argue.

  

        “I hate you, your gigantic liver and your eldritch metabolism.”

        Darcy managed to get the sentence out before another round of dry-heaving had her hunched over the toilet. She was never drinking again. Ever. Hell, she was throwing out the bottle of wine she’d brought specifically for cooking. Alcohol was an evil, evil brew.

        “I told you not to drink it all, but you didn’t listen,” Jane’s voice carried from outside the door.

        Darcy leaned her head against the side of the toilet bowl. It was nice and cool. She hadn’t knelt before the porcelain god since first semester sophomore year. At least this time she still had her clothes. That time involved a Ferris wheel, three togas, and a unicycle and was the singular reason behind NMS’s revising of its on-campus alcohol policies. “You brought the evil in our midst.”

        The kitchen sink hissed to life outside. “Moderation is your friend, Darcy.”

        She flushed away the bitter-smelling spew. “You should be the one in here,” she yelled. Because Jane was a hundred pounds soaking wet, but matched her drink for drink before the call from Phil. The woman should be half-dead from alcohol poisoning, not semi-lecturing her about moderation.

        Jane opened the bathroom door. She was dressed, fresh, and gorgeous as usual. Darcy glimpsed herself in the mirror and swore the thing should have cracked. She looked like a reject from the Exorcist. “Here.” Jane shoved a fizzing glass into the bathroom. “It’ll settle your stomach.”

        The whiff of Alka-Seltzer made her insides roil, but she took it anyway. “Hate you,” she mumbled.

        Jane raised an eyebrow. “Who kept you from getting vomit in your hair?”

        “I really dislike you.”

        “And gave you a soft spot to pass out?”

        Darcy chugged the glass of seltzer. Her stomach flip-flopped, and she thought she was going to throw up all over her friend until it quieted to an unsteady roll. “Thanks,” she whispered.

        Jane led her out of the bathroom. “Anytime.”

* * *

        “Dr. Foster?”

        Jane looked up from her data. Coulson stood in the doorway, a large paper bag in hand. Except for the lack of agents swarming around her taking her stuff it could have been months ago. Darcy swore he wore the same suit every day just to mess with his coworkers. “Agent Coulson.” He looked around the lab, searching for Darcy. She tossed her head to the rear. “She’s still in the RV.” 

        “That bad?”

        “She spent half the morning cursing my descendents to the thirteenth generation.”

        He looked down, which she assumed meant he was laughing inside but didn’t want anyone to know. When he looked back up he gestured to the rear showroom doors. “May I?”

        “I put her in the bed when I got up, so she’s either there or in the bathroom.”

        He nodded and started across the lab, pausing to examine a few new pieces she requisitioned the week before. She hated to admit it, but Stark tech was more accurate than her jury-rigged equipment. He was at the door to the RV when he turned back around. “Thank you, for taking care of her.”

        “Sure.”

        Jane watched him go inside. She still didn’t believe that he and Darcy were in a relationship, one that grew more serious as time went by. Darcy was…Darcy. She was a soft science major who built file systems in her spare time that stumped a covert government agency. She color coded her crossword puzzles and believed in the healing power of crystals which just…no. She loved Darcy, but no. She couldn’t imagine her with Agent Coulson. She’d yet to see the man crack a smile. 

        When she discovered that her assistant’s mystery caller was the SHIELD agent who stole all her equipment and research Jane hadn’t taken it well. In her defense Erik hadn’t either. Not just because of the age thing (though that was a big part of it, more for Erik than for her because, yeah, Thor was at least a millennia old) but because she just couldn’t see it. The person Darcy talked about, the one who joked about zombie protocols, picked apart cable shows, and harbored a secret love of lolcats and Supernanny could not be the stone-faced front man of a secret government agency. At least, that’s what she thought before last night.

        _Darcy’s phone buzzed as Jane stumbled out of her clothes. She risked a glance at her clock. It was 11:48. Either it was her boyfriend or an emergency. Or both._

        _The phone buzzed again, and after some muttering from the other woman slid across the floor towards Jane’s room._

        _“Don’t wanna talk to ‘im,” Darcy yelled._

        _Jane picked up the phone. The ID read ‘Maxwell Smart’. “Phil?”_

        _“Tell 'im he sucks.”_

        _Jane answered the phone. “Hello?”_

        _“Dr. Foster?” Phi sounded less than his normal neutral self. “Is Darcy with you?”_

        _“Ummm…” She glanced around the corner. Darcy was on her stomach, hand dangling to the floor. “She’s unavailable right now.”_

        _“I’m drunk right now!” Darcy yelled, foot waving in the air. “D-R-U-N-“_

        _“She’s had a little too much to drink,” Jane covered, closing the slide between the bedroom and the rest of the RV._

        _There was a beat, then, “Can I speak with her?”_

        _Jane opened the slide. Darcy was still singing her drunk song, but it was less coherent now and talked more about Whoville and elephants than actual drinking. “That’s maybe not the best idea,” she covered. Darcy had some choice things to say about Phil in the hours since the tequila started flowing._

        _“Please, Dr. Foster.”_

        _When she set the phone on Darcy’s cheek she went quiet, foot dropping to the couch with a dull thud. Since there was no further yelling or crying Jane went about readying herself for bed. A thirty-two ounce glass of water later she heard the phone as it slid back into her room._

        _“Hello?”_

        _“It was our three month anniversary,” Phil sounded contrite. “We were supposed to go to dinner, but work got in the way.” A door closed in the background. “Thank you for being there when I couldn’t.”_

        _Jane sniffed. She hadn’t drunk enough to make her a sappy mess, but it was pretty close. “No problem.”_

  

        Darcy was in the astrophysicist’s bed curled on her side, the only thing visible the top of her head. Phil picked his way through the gloom. The blackout curtains were drawn, so the space was lit only by the light from the forward windows.

        Guilt curled around his chest. They were supposed to drive to San Antonio for sushi. The small town held the best sushi restaurant in New Mexico if the reviews were to be believed. He was halfway out the door when the Director called to inform him he was two hours out and wanted a complete rundown of their progress so far. Which lead to Dr. Nelson going on an hour long rant about government interference in scientific matters instead of gathering his team and summarizing their data.

        Phil sat on the edge of the bed and set a hand on her shoulder. “Darcy?”

        “Go away or I’ll throw up on you.” She shuddered. “Not because I want to, either.”

        He exerted a little more pressure, and she rolled over. Darcy was pale, eyes bruised and bloodshot, hair sweaty. “Did you get the worm?”

        She chuckled, and then groaned. “Don’t make me laugh.”

        Phil opened the bag he brought and pulled out an oversized shirt, yoga pants, and a bead necklace. “I brought your sick clothes.” 

        Darcy dressed slowly, shimmying out of her camisole and into the oversized Care Bear sleep shirt and rainbow yoga pants. When she had the amethyst necklace on she laid back. “Jane’s gonna kill me.”

        “She’ll kill me first,” Phil ran his fingers through her hair. “Think you can eat something?” He pulled out a Tupperware bowl filled with bite-sized egg and bacon sandwiches. 

        “I throw up-“

        “I’m on bucket duty.”

* * *

        The restaurant was nice: Christmas lights in the trees, large bay window, white linen and candled on the tables. It was one of those places that snuck onto Main St. USA, tried to fit in, and failed charmingly if miserably. The oversized window probably sported pies or dried goods in a past life but now revealed cream and black booths, dark red walls, and deco art. The great thing about that was it meant every table was visible from the outside. 

        Clint leaned back against a smoke stack, coffee and moon pies at his hip. Finally, he’d managed to get off campus while Phil was on one of his walkabouts. Dr. Nelson was at White Sands, probably getting the third degree because of Fury’s spot check, and the Tesseract was on lockdown until his return. Clint couldn’t find it in himself to feel sorry for him. Nelson was arrogant and condescending on his best days, and had no time for “government Neanderthals” as he liked to call anyone with less than two PhD’s. More than once he’d had to remind the other man that he could, and would, kill him. At this point the only thing keeping him alive was the Director’s order for no wet work on-site.

        Phil chose a table near the rear, clear line of sight to what he imagined were both exists, not readily visible from the street unless you were at the right angle. He examined the menu, eyes darting over the selections. In an interesting change the suit he wore was not SHEILD issue. He wore a grey jacket and pants combination with a black shirt, the top two buttons undone. He’d had to do a double-take just to make sure it really was Agent Coulson. Clint hoped he was meeting someone, because watching the man dress up to have dinner by himself in a nice restaurant was just…sad. 

        As if the thought conjured a companion Phil looked up, a smile lighting his face as a woman approached his table. She smiled back when Phil stood. Clint ran through the list of possible contacts he had in the area when it happened. The woman kissed Phil dead on the mouth, and he was certain she’d included more than a little tongue. Not a casual acquaintance then. Phil broke the kiss and circled around her to help with her coat and Clint wolf-whistled. The mystery woman had body for days, and the dress she wore showed every curve to perfection. Coulson must have thought so, too, because he took a step back and made a comment. She smiled again, red flushing her cheeks as she sat down.

        Phil Coulson had a girlfriend. Emphasis on the ‘girl’ part of that statement, because if she was over twenty-five he was resigning from SHIELD.

        Clint watched as they ordered dinner. The girl was animated, all hands and smiles as they waited for their food to arrive. Coulson was subdued, but he was more relaxed than Clint could ever recall seeing him. He even smiled more than once at whatever his date was saying, a smile that reached his eyes and turned into an opened-mouth laugh. It was eerie, seeing Coulson act like a living, breathing human being. His poker face was legendary. He’d asked Natasha before this detail if she’d ever seen her handler smile. 

_"Twice. Once after a mission in Syria when we verified a kill: a sniper who worked with VEVAK.”_

_“And?”_

_She raised an eyebrow. “When Stark’s physical came back all-clear for Palladium poisoning.”_

       He laughed and took a bite out of his moon pie. This was the big secret. This was what Fury had him babysitting a bunch of scientists for. Phil was getting some without the Director’s permission. He hoped it was that way. If advancing in SHIELD meant getting the OK to date from his superiors, he was staying right where he was. 

       They were halfway through dinner (and she got kudos in his book for ordering actual food, not some fufu salad) when Clint made up his mind. He climbed down from his perch and waited in the alley until he saw Phil’s girl stand and head towards the bathrooms. He jogged across the street and into the restaurant.

       Phil may have been on a date, but he was less relaxed than he seemed. They made eye contact the second Clint turned a corner into the seating area. His expression went from amused to neutral in that moment. “Agent Barton.”

       “Sir.” Clint slipped into the vacated seat. “Fancy meeting you here.”

       Phil wasn’t buying it. “Is there an emergency on-base I need to be aware of?”

       “No emergency,” he reassured. “Just thought I’d get off-base for a while. Take in the sights.”

       Coulson’s eyelid flickered. “And you thought Los Felix was perfect.”

       “Sure, closest thing that doesn’t consist of just Main St.” He grinned. “And looks like you chose the exact same place. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

       Phil’s expression went from neutral to completely blank, and that was something he either learned from or taught to Natasha, because Clint had yet to meet anyone else who could get that level of no-comment into an expression.

       He decided to press further. “And your date, I mean.” He outlined an exaggerated female shape in the air in front of him, thought for a second, and then did another with even more exaggerated curves. Really, how did someone like Coulson land someone like her?

       “Didn’t know you liked them that young, either,” now he was just pushing, seeing if he could crack through the other agent’s calm. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t get tazed. Not in front of witnesses. “She’s like…twelve. How-“

       “Agent Barton.”

       Clint stopped talking at the soft word. Phil’s earlobes were red, his hands folded on the table, but he could see the fingertips were white where they pressed against his hands. He wasn’t mad. Phil was…nervous? “Oh.” He leaned back. “ _Oh.”_

       “I would appreciate it if you would keep this information to yourself for the time being,” Phil said, the words quiet.

        _Well, see, the Director thinks you’re being compromised, at the very least that you’re thinking of quitting. I have to throw him something to get him off your ass,_ he tried to convey those words with his eyes, but Phil didn’t seem to get the message. Fine, he’d have to be blunter. “Listen, I don’t care who you’re seeing, but the Director has been getting nosy, so…” he trailed off.

       “Director Fury wanted you to spy on me?” He was entirely too calm saying those words. 

       “On everyone,” Clint added quickly. 

       Some of the tension went out of Coulson. It was amazing, how he hadn’t noticed it was there until it was gone. “And are you satisfied that I don’t pose a threat to national security or our current mission?”

       Clint gave a sharp salute. “What about-“

       “I’ll handle Fury. You need to get back and make sure Rennard isn’t running before he can walk.”

       Barton was on his feet when Mystery Girl returned. Up close her curves were even more distracting. “Oh, hey!” She looked at Phil. “Friend?”

       He rose from his seat. “Clint Barton, this is Darcy Lewis. Darcy, this is Clint Barton, one of my colleagues.”

       Clint nodded. “Ma’am.”

       “Oh, God, that’s worse than ‘Ms. Lewis’,” her voice was light, airy. She glanced between the two of them. “Everything okay? You’re not about to go all Death Match on each other, are you?”

       She was observant. He was about to say so when the name pinged his memory. Darcy Lewis, assistant to Jane Foster. The one person in Los Felix that he’d discounted. He owed Nat a hundred bucks.

       Darcy was talking. “So, you work together long, or-“

       “Not long,” he interrupted. “You two look like you’re having an evening. I just wanted to stop in and say hey to Phil.”

       “Sure.” She looked between them again and Clint found himself trying not to smile. She was very observant for a civilian. “Nice to meet you.”

       “Phil.”

       “Barton.”

* * *

       Nick closed the door to his apartment with a sigh. The past three months were the hardest he’d had to suffer through since the Iron Curtain crumbled under its own weight. The World Security Council was still jumping down his throat about the Puente Antiguo incident. Drs. Foster and Selvig were making leaps and strides in their understanding of the universe, but that wasn’t actual help against a newly discovered alien threat. Project Pegasus seemed to have stalled out and everyone was getting fed up with Dr. Rennard and his excuses for his lack of progress. The man had months working with the Tesseract yet they were no closer to understanding it, or what it was capable of. Schmidt’s surviving notes were clear on the artifact's role in HYDRA’s weapons development, and he refused to believe the people they had working on the problem were less intelligent than a madman using 1940s tech. That wasn’t even including Stark’s particular brand of madness. Or Harlem. He ran a hand over his scalp.

        Fucking Harlem. 

       Fury took three steps into his living room and stopped. 

       “If you’re here to kill me, I hope you have health insurance,” he said to the dark room. Really, he hadn’t had to deal with an in-home assassination attempt in seven years. 

       “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”

       Fury relaxed. “Agent Coulson.” He took off his coat. “I thought we promised each other we’d stop meeting like this.” He flipped on a switch, flooding the room with light. “Aren’t you supposed to be in New Mexico?”

       Phil sat in his lazy boy, two file folders on his lap. “I thought you trusted me, Nick.”

       Coulson’s tone was curious, and it put him on edge. He’d known the other man too long to be lulled by that. More telling of his mood was the fact that he hadn’t moved a muscle during their brief exhange. Coulson was pissed at him specifically, and there were only a handful of reasons for that. Nick knew there were two ways he could go: bullshit or truth. “Barton was just a precaution.”

       “Because of the sensitivity of the assignment.”

       “Because your behavior over the past several months has been atypical.” When the other man didn't respond he huffed. "What? You thought I wouldn't notice?"

       Phil stood and held out one of the folders. “Her name is Darcy Lewis. She works as Dr. Jane Foster’s assistant in Puente Antiguo and has Level 1 clearance. We’ve been dating for three months, since the Incident.”

       Fury took the folder. Inside was a headshot of a pretty young girl, followed by pages of intelligence. He remembered a Lewis from Coulson’s final report; something about a possible asset. “Agent-”

       “She isn’t another Josephine, Nick.”

       He breathed out and closed the file. “I didn’t think she was.” He didn’t think anything, because Barton was useless when it came to this part of his detail and he’d been leery of using anyone else. He was a spy but he wasn’t a complete asshole. “Is that all, Agent Coulson?”

       “Word on the mountain is that Dr. Rennard is on his way out, and you need another scientist to head the Project. I’d like to recommend Erik Selvig.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> I'm a very visual person, so for those of you out there like me who need to be oriented in space, here are links to [map of my Fucked Up Love Songs verse](http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t50/dragonfall1221/fuckeduplovesongsworls.jpg) as well as [ Jane's Spify-Keen new RV ](http://www.usadventurerv.com/usarvs/Itasca/Suncruiser/Motor-Home-Class-A.aspx)


	4. Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was supposed to be out before Christmas, but I fell behind working on later parts... sorry about that.
> 
> Special thanks goes to boofadil for input on New Mexico. You're wonderful!

        “No, Mom. No…no!”

        Jane fought the urge to turn around. Darcy was at the back of the lab outside the showroom doors pacing, phone held to her ear. The look on her friend’s face when she looked at her caller ID was enough to make the astrophysicist nervous, and told her who was calling more than the terse 'Hey, Mom' that followed. 

        “I don’t… that’s not…”

        She stopped, foot tapping impatiently.

        “I’m not. Why would I lie?”

        Darcy voice went flat, and that was a Very Bad Sign. Despite what everyone tended to think Jane was actually very aware of other people’s tells. Research meant using someone else’s money, and she’d defended her budget through more than one negotiation. 

        “I can’t, Mom.” She could _hear_ Darcy roll her eyes. “Because I actually have a job… that I have to show up to.” 

        Darcy hung up and Jane flinched. She couldn’t imagine hanging up on her mother, and not just because Clarissa Foster would drive 1,000 miles nonstop just to smack her. She and her mother had a good relationship based on mutual respect and love. Darcy and her mother seemed to be in a perpetual cold war with occasional flare-ups.

        She tossed her phone on her desk and dropped into her chair. “Family reunion,” she said as an explanation.

        “I can give you time off, if you want.” It wasn’t like she was a slave driver.

        Darcy’s expression went as flat as her voice, which was disturbing. Someone as animated as Darcy shouldn’t be able to make that face. “Jane, I will rearrange every file segment on that server and not give you the key.”

        She turned back to her computer. “Just trying to be helpful,” she said under her breath.

        “And program every incorrect file extension make a video of a dancing baby pop up.”

        Jane closed her laptop. “Trouble in paradise?”

        “Actually, paradise is peachy keen, thanks. It’s my mom.” Darcy tangled her hands in her hair. “Aunt Jenny’s having a family reunion, and she wants me there. Soooo not happening.” She shook herself. “Anyway, did you get the thingys done?”

        The astrophysicist sighed. “Flat field corrections, Darcy. Flat field corrections.”

* * *

        Late August through September went by in a blur. With the data collation finished, her equations and models built to accommodate Thor’s input on the universe Jane managed to write a coherent paper that passed muster with SHIELD, meaning no mention of advanced races, interstellar beings, or advanced _anything_ of any kind. It kinda sucked in Darcy's opinion, because she really wished they could put 'Thor Odinson, God of Thunder' as a resource. He totally deserved credit, even if she had to help her boss translate Asgardian into advanced physics. Magic and science being the same were all well and good for a people who spoke in flowery metaphors to describe damn near everything, but Jane had to find where the numbers and theories fit.

        Then came the fact that Jane writing was ten times worse than Jane researching. Whole sections of her work were blown up and taped on the walls, which meant the showroom drapes were always closed. She joked at first and called it Dr. Foster's Chamber of Tortures, then stopped when it became obvious that the woman was really torturing herself. Darcy became less an assistant than a parent who made sure their child ate, bathed, and slept on something approaching a normal schedule while Jane reran numbers. When Erik finished reading the final draft he called it her masterpiece, a melding of relativity and String Theory that would change the world (which Darcy took to mean was a Big Fucking Deal). The Astrophysical Journal was more subdued at her research, and Jane was ecstatic when they sent a letter informing her that her paper was going to be peer reviewed for their next publication.

        In celebration Darcy decided they needed a road trip and made reservations at the Lightning Fields. Jane attempted to smuggle her laptop in, but she put her foot down. They were going to see pretty flashing lights and feel the ground shake and that was it, no science allowed. The drive was long, the cabin charming, and the escape from all things SHIELD related (at least for one night) did them both good. That night a storm swept through and the fields lived up to their name, and if they got a little misty eyed about the absence of a certain thunder god it was no one’s business but their own. 

        With the sudden downpour came mud, and she was glad she brought her hiking boots because there was no way she was staying in a cabin filled with sweaty-wet-boot-foot stink. It was also the first time Darcy saw her boss with people not employed by SHIELD, or Erik for any length of time. Jane in normal person mode (well, normal for Jane, which meant she kept the talking to herself to a minimum and ate food that didn’t have to be put directly into her hands) was just as intelligent, but more patient and slightly scatterbrained. Darcy was sure the Krieg’s little girl found a new hero when Jane explained exactly how lightning formed and managed to predict one of the strikes, which she admitted after Greta fell asleep was sheer dumb luck.

        Darcy scrubbed a towel through her hair. New Mexico mud had the magical ability of getting everywhere and sticking to everything, and no matter how long she’d lived there she’d yet to find a means of conquering it. Her hiking boots were next to her door on a pile of newspaper to be dealt with sometime in the next week or so while her laundry whirred away in the basement machines. On the way back to Puenty Antiguo Jane declared all research activities suspended until she got solid confirmation from the journal, so Darcy was on semi-vacation. She tied the mass of her hair at her nape with her I Feel Pretty ribbon and turned her attention to the matter at hand.

        The case was slightly battered, M.A. engraved on the faded gold-toned buckles, the black leather graying with wear at the top and bottom. She ran her hands over it, testing the give of the leather and planning on giving it a thorough going over with Armorall before the night was over. When she was officially hired by SHIELD she told herself she would buy a new case, but there was always a reason not to. Her teacher used this one for over forty years without a problem, she imagined it would last another forty more. 

        She never admitted it to her mother, but she loved playing cello. It started (at least, in her mind) as a way for her mother to get rid of her for two hours every afternoon and four on Saturday. Darcy remembered the first time her mother dropped her off, warning her to behave and driving away almost before the door opened. Mr. Azares lived three blocks away and retired from the Oregon Symphony twenty years before. His hands were gnarled and leathery, his eyes milky and his breath smelled like cigarettes and coffee, but the first time she listened to him play she knew she wanted to be able to do _that_.

        Darcy opened the cello case and took out her bow, examining it with a critical eye as she adjusted the hairs. That done she took out her instrument and lowered the end pin in a single practiced move. The last time she played was for Jane, the price for letting her borrow the old RV to haul her stuff from storage in Las Cruces and the cello from her friend Brian, a fellow string player who agreed to care for it during the summer. The Pressenda was left to her by Mr. Azares with the warning that he’d haunt her forever if anything happened to it. The screaming match that resulted when her mother found out how much the instrument was worth was something she tucked into the darkest corners of her memory.

        She just finished tuning when she two short knocks followed by three louder ones sounded, followed by the rasp of the lock turning. “One day I’m gonna get you a key,” she said, moving to place the cello and bow on its stand in the corner furthest from the window and giving it a quick wipe down.

        Phil smiled as he set down his overnight bag. “How was the road trip?”

        “Fun. I think Jane’s some kid’s new superhero.” She went up on tiptoe to kiss him. “There was lightning, and rain, and mud. Lots of mud." 

        "Sound's exciting." 

        "Eh." She shrugged her shoulders. "I missed you." His smile grew brighter and she kissed him again before wrapping her arms around his neck. “So, Secret Agent Man, save the world this weekend?”

        Phil’s arms went around her waist. “If I told you I’d have to kill you,” he warned.

        “Kinky.” She backed up and headed to the kitchen. Having a boyfriend who was a Level Seven really sucked when you were Level 1. “I think there’s still some stew in the fridge that hasn’t become intelligent, if you’re hungry.” She fished out the container and lifted the Tupperware lid with a careful sniff. Yep, still good.

        “I’m fine. I almost thought the case was just a prop,” he said, gesturing towards the cello.

        She half turned as she spooned the stew into a bowl. “Hate to disappoint, but it’s not where I hide my stash.”

        “Of course not, that’s in the bathroom cabinet in you tampon box.”

        “Hey!”

        Darcy busied herself getting her dinner ready and placed a bowl in the microwave just in case Phil changed his mind. After an emergency decision where she decided to crack the can of crescent rolls she heard her stereo spring to life and soft jazz filled the apartment. She had to hand it to him she thought as she tapped out the rhythm on the counter, the jazz was growing on her. When she came out of the kitchen, hot stew and fresh roll in hand he was in a t-shirt and sweats, standing by the cello.

        “Would you play something for me?”

        She froze. “Right now?”

        “Or after you eat, if you want. I’ve never heard you play before.”

        Technically, the only two people she’d ever played for were Mr. Azares and Jane, and all Jane got was _Hornfiffen_. Darcy swallowed. 

        “If you’d rather not-”

        “Sure…umm…. Just….” She set her food down and retrieved the cello and bow, ducking her head when she saw Phil had pulled out one of her dining table chairs. She situated herself as Phil turned off the stereo and paused. She had to look ridiculous: hair coming loose from its tie, wearing nothing but her most faded of Garfield sleep shirts, a cello worth more than all the other contents of her apartment combined between her bare knees.

        _Don’t think,_ Mr. Azares’ voice sounded loud and clear. _You think too much. Do what a cellist does, girl. Play._

        She started the prelude to Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1, eyes closing a few bars in as the music swept her away.

  

        Phil thought he’d done something wrong when he asked Darcy to play for him. She was a strange mixture of openness and reticence that he was still figuring out months into their relationship. Dare Darcy Lewis to run down Main Street in nothing but body paint and high heels and she would do it with a smile and ask if you had a specific color in mind. Ask her favorite color and she would dance around the question for hours until pinned down. Quite literally, in one case.

        When she agreed he sat on the couch and waited as she set herself up, positioning the instrument with the ease of long practice. Her file stated she took lessons for eleven years, though there were no records of her entering into a competition or otherwise showcasing her talent, not even a known recital. Darcy sat stiffly at first, clearly uncomfortable as she began to play. He recognized the piece from too many assignments at dinner parties and high class functions but listening to it now, in a small studio apartment, it sounded new. As she played she relaxed and seemed to forget he was there. Her eyes closed and she started to sway as she played; fingers moving, bow gliding over the strings. 

        Darcy finished the piece, hands still, and began again before he could comment. The second piece was soulful, the notes heavy and drawn out, blurring into one another. It took a moment for him to realize that it wasn’t classical, but more jazz-like. As the last note faded she opened her eyes and glanced at him through long lashes, vermillion racing up her neck and staining her cheeks. She rose and set the cello back in its stand. “Well, you’re head didn’t explode,” she joked, brushing hair out of her eyes.

        “They were beautiful, Darcy." He knew better than to do more. She was strangely adverse to compliments. "Thank you.”

        “No problem.”

        He grabbed her bowl before she could and went to the kitchen. “I’ll warm these up.”

* * *

        “No.”

        “Darcy-”

        “No! I’ve made up my mind, and it’s not changing.”

        Phil’s shoulders slumped. “You’re talking about your future.”

        “Arrggghhh,” Darcy growled and threw the sponge in the sink, scattering soap bubbles across the counter and floor. She stepped away from the splash and faced him, arms crossed over her chest. “Why do you all think I’m somehow unaware of that? That it escapes me that this is a big decision? I’m ditzy, Phil. Not stupid.”

        They were having their first fight. At least, she thought it was their first fight. Phil hadn’t raised his voice, his volume was completely reasonable, and it was pissing her off.

        The evening was going great: dinner, then movie, then desert. Phil had a thing about dishes being left out overnight, and she refused to let him clean up on his own, so they ended up shoulder to shoulder with her on washing duty while he dried. Seamless, perfect, then she had to open her mouth and tell him she wasn’t going back to State.

        “I can quote you the statistics,” he said calmly as he dried a plate and put it away.

        “Those stats are crap, everyone knows that but the high school kids who get read it like gospel.” She ignored the water on the floor and came back to the sink. “It’s just a piece of paper that says I paid some place way too much money.” She ran the sponge around the lip of a glass. “It doesn’t mean anything. Besides, I missed registration, anyway.” 

        They continued working for several minutes in silence. 

        “I’m sure the university has online classes,” Phil pressed.

        “I’m sure they do, too.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And if you sign me up for any of them the girl’s and I are going on strike.” His lip curled. “I mean it. Granny bras all day, every day.”

        That should have been the end of it, but Philip Coulson was capable of levels of frustration that would have made her mother proud. It started out with reminders from State that there was still time to sign up for half-credit and late start courses that kept coming no matter how many times she opted out (or changed her email). A few fliers for continuing education found their way into her mail box, invitations to view college campuses around the country. When graduate schools started scouting her enough was enough.

        “Quit it.” She poked Phil hard in the back.

        He didn’t look up from where he was cleaning his gun (which she wouldn’t admit but, yeah, super hot). “Stop what?” he asked.

        She sat across from him. “Face it, Agent Coulson. You’re dating a drop-out.”

        He pushed the recoil assembly back into the slide (and yes, she’d been paying attention to his gun maintenance lessons) and set the partially assembled gun on the table. “Can you give me a reason why you’re planning on dropping out with only six courses left?”

        Darcy made a play of thinking, eyes roaming the ceiling. “Uh… my apartment. It’s too far. And my apartment. There’s three.”

        “Two.”

        “Whatever. It’s a hundred miles to the nearest campus. I’m not doing that twice a day, five times a week. And if I don’t that means moving, and I’m not moving.” None of the friends she’d spoken to had an apartment her size for less than nine hundred a month. “I’ve got a job and a life. Here.”

        He stared at her, and she fought the urge to fidget. Phil had a way of looking that went beyond looking. He _examined_ , as if he could ferret out her thoughts. A few times she wondered if he was an actual mind reader. It would explain a lot.

        “Grant is only a few miles further than Los Felix, in relation to the facility,” he said carefully.

        “It’s not… I’m not…”

        “There’s no obligation for us to stay together, Darcy. In fact, if you feel you need to choose between me and your education-”

        “It’s not about you!” She leaned over the table. “You think I’m that dumb? That I’d screw myself over some _guy?_ ”

        She wanted to strangle herself the second she said it. Phil blinked twice, and then turned his attention back to reassembling his Glock with quick, precise movements. “That didn’t come out right,” she whispered, settling back into her chair.

        When the gun was complete and back in its holster she stood up. “I’m going for a walk.” She had her shoes and coat on when he finally spoke. 

        “Don’t forget Sparky.”

        

        Seeing Phil’s car in front of the building made some of the weight lift from her chest.

        She’d spent hours wandering Los Felix, which translated to circling downtown a few times and branching into the suburb (if you could call less than a hundred houses a suburb), before finding enough courage to head back home. It was after midnight by the time she got back, afraid that he’d be gone.

        Phil was in bed, sitting against the headboard with his laptop open. He closed it when he turned to the door and set it on the bedside table.

        Darcy didn’t say anything, just climbed into the bed jacket and all and wrapped her arms around him. Relief spread through her when he copied the motion.

        “You’re not just some guy,” she said, pressing her head to his chest. “And I’m not messing up my life. I’m,” _a freak, daughter of a schizo, survivor of an alien attack_. “Different. I don’t need a degree from some place to tell me what I’m worth. And I’m not throwing my future away because I can’t live without you or anything. We did pretty good when you lived on the other side of the country.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I just think I belong _here_. Jane’s mapping the universe, you’re saving the world. Why would I want to be anywhere else?” _I love you I love you I love you I love you._ “So can you just lay off? Please?”

        Phil ran a hand down her back. “Next time just say so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I am not a physicist or a cellist, so any mistakes made on those two points are entirely my fault, though I swear I tried to research both subjects to get them at least kinda right. 
> 
> The two pieces Darcy plays for Phil are Bach's prelude to his cello suite (listen [ Here ](http://youtu.be/S6yuR8efotI)) and Space Lion (listen [ Here ](http://youtu.be/OqKD5WOivpQ))
> 
> And before any real musicians blast me for Darcy's lesson schedule, it's not what you think. The main reason this was so late was because of a side fic called All the Little Things I'll be posting that details some of her 'lessons'.
> 
> Boofadil, thanks again!


	5. Chapter 5

        “Phil,” Pepper’s smile was brilliant. “It’s been a while.”

        He shook the red head’s hand and gestured for her to sit. “You look well, Ms. Potts.”

        “Business has been booming, for once.” She sipped tea from a narrow cup. “The city council voted to let Tony build using the arc reactor as the main power source for the tower, so we’re moving forward with forty floors already rented.”

        They settled into small talk as the server brought a bowl of lemon water and another pot of tea. He’d passed Masa several times, always making a deal with himself that he was going to splurge one day. When he got the call from Pepper asking when he would next be in New York he let his interest in the restaurant slip and was only slightly surprised when she texted him the address and time after he landed.

        His relationship with the CEO was something he never counted on. He first knew of her through reputation. Pepper Potts was the only person capable of reining in Tony Stark and ruled those beneath her with an iron fist, even if it was usually encased in velvet. She was calm, capable, and self-assured, the kind of woman he usually found himself attracted to. That she was devoted to Stark was plain from the beginning. 

        After Vanko they struck up a friendship of sorts. The Director, despite Natasha’s assessment, made him the billionaire’s unofficial handler. Pepper, as if knowing what SHIELD would do, gave him a single piece of advice: let her handle Tony. To that end they met once every few weeks to touch base. It proved to be the key to dealing with the eccentric billionaire. She even managed to get him to work with SHIELD to keep Blonsky off the team. 

        They were finishing a small plate of thinly sliced Kobe beef wrapped around bouquets of cucumber slivers and herbs when she arched one eyebrow. “Who is she?”

        “Who?”

        Pepper sat her arms on the table. “This is the fifth time we’ve had lunch since the Expo, Agent Coulson,” she explained calmly. “And it’s the first time you didn’t at least peek at my cleavage.” She picked up the black polished chopsticks and dipped a piece of shashimi into the mustard sauce.

        He wondered when exactly he became so transparent. “She’s a friend.”

        “A _friend_?”

        “A cellist.” He thought for a moment. “Would it be too much to ask you to keep this from Stark?” He could imagine the other man semi-stalking him just to figure out who his girlfriend was in some misguided attempt to make him appear more human. He didn’t relish the thought of trying to keep a phone free from SHIELD and Jarvis.

        Pepper made a play of zipping her lips. “It’ll be our secret. Bring her next time you come and we’ll check out Per Se.”

        When the platter was cleared Masa himself came out and presented them with a plate of pale, translucent slices arranged to resemble two dancing cranes. Pepper thanked him in Japanese and turned to Coulson, who was eyeing the dish. “First time?” she asked, nodding to the lacquer-ware plate.

        “I understand the fugu is prepared from non-poisonous varieties,” Phil sampled a piece.

        “Normally.”

        He paused in chewing. Pepper’s eyes sparkled. 

* * *

        “Agent Coulson, we have a level four.”

        Phil stood up and closed his door, making a mental note to call and apologize to Darcy for missing Walking Dead. “Sir?”

        “Widow missed her last check-in,” Fury’s voice was tight.

        “How long?”

        “72 hours,” there was a murmur in the background. “Details of the op should be in your inbox now. Call me back when you’ve read through.”

        Phil sat at his desk and browsed through the file. The passport picture of Natasha showed her hair was cut into a short bob and dyed dark blonde. Implants widened the bridge of her nose and broadened her chin. She was Alexandra Mezzi from Naples, an accountant forBanca Nazionale Del Lavoro sent to work with an international client in Thailand. A client SHEILD suspected of laundering money for Zodiac. His desire for diversification and known weakness for blondes was the in, and over the past month Natasha was able to provide solid intel on the shadowed side of his operations. Three days ago she missed her first check, and once she reached the redline he was contacted as per protocol.

        He called Fury back. “I have five assets in the area.”

        “You only have three on-book.”

        When he didn’t respond the Director sighed. “You have an hour before pickup. We’ll have a cover in place before you touch down in Los Angeles.”

        

        Eighteen days.

        Darcy looked at her Cow Abductions calendar again, counting the days X’d out in black Sharpie. Eighteen days since she received a package with no return address. _Emergency. Be back as soon as I can_ , written in Phil’s neat cursive on a piece of printer paper folded to form a tent, and beneath that his personal phone. She tried calling the facility, but with her clearance all she knew was that Phil wasn’t there and no one would tell her when (or if) he was coming back. She couldn’t call him, because their phone was sitting on his side of the bed. 

        They had The Talk, once. About the less kosher side of his job and what that could mean. Phil told her flat out that a time might come when he had to vanish for any number of reasons, that he would be unable to contact her in any way. He ran down a list of people who might contact her, or demand she come with them complete with pictures, names, and code phrases. At the end he drilled home there was a very real possibility that he could die somewhere, and she might never know what happened to him. Darcy ignored that, told herself that she would know; that someone would tell her if something happened to him. Now, she wondered how she could have been that naive. 

        On day seven she received a postcard from an Uncle Steven from Germany, an uncle that didn’t exist. The message was simple; _miss you_ written in a handwriting that wasn’t Phil’s. Or maybe was Phil’s: there was no way of knowing how many versions he had. After that there was nothing. Darcy watched her email, checked her phone constantly, haunted the mailbox, but he sent nothing else. 

        She wondered if this was how Jane felt all the time. If it was, she didn’t know how the other woman functioned.

        “Here.” A plate came into her field of view.

        Darcy looked up. Jane stood over her, another plate in hand. “Jane?”

        “Eat,” she sat across from her and picked up her sandwich.

        She picked at her plate of French fries and grilled cheese while Jane eyed her until she took a solid bite.

        “Agent Dodson came by yesterday,” the astrophysicist said around a mouthful of fries.

        Darcy’s chewing slowed. “Did he?”

        “He said something about the security on the server being compromised.” Jane’s gaze didn’t waver.

        Darcy swallowed. “That’s interesting.”

        “Darcy.”

        She took off her glasses. “It was just a test.”

        “Darcy!”

        “I was bored, okay!” To be honest, she would have done it months ago if Phil wasn’t there to remind her of all the reasons she shouldn’t. She knew it was SHIELD, but come on. “I even made a report to give them in case someone figured out what I did outlining their vulnerabilities and everything.” She reached into her desk and pulled out the stapled pages. “They’re a super secret government agency; it shouldn’t have taken them more than a week to figure it out.” She’d expected Hill to show up days ago. Then she planned on kidnapping the woman and keeping her tied to a chair until she told her where Phil was.

        “He’ll be back, Darcy,” Jane’s voice was quiet, but firm. “He’ll be back. Are you sure you-”

        Darcy shook her head. “Nope. Nothing doing. I’ve seen your idea of fun, Jane.”

        “It’s a conference.”

        “In Washington. In fall.”

        They settled on talking about everything but Phil, SHIELD, or absent boyfriends. Jane was working on expanding her theory to nth dimensional travel, which meant Darcy was back on spreadsheet and filing duty. She stared at the screen as Jane worked behind her, eyes unfocused.

        _Come on, Phil,_ she thought, biting her nails. _Come home._

* * *

        _You’re safe, Natasha. You’re on a military transport headed for San Francisco. It’s Sunday, October 28 th. You’ve been unconscious for two days. The restraints are for the protection of the medical staff only, and I’ll take them off once you speak something other than Russian._

        She knew that voice, knew those calm tones. Natasha’s eyelids fluttered as she struggled towards consciousness, arms and legs moving. She was restrained at wrist and ankle. Not tightly, but enough so that her movements were encumbered.

        _Natasha, it’s Phil. If you can hear me please let me know._

        “Da,” she said, noting how it hurt to talk. Her lips felt cracked and raw, her jaw swollen. “I’m here.”

        “You gave us a scare, Agent Romanov. I hope the intel was worth it.”

        Natasha finally managed to open her eyes. The ceiling above her was low and grey with pipes snaking overhead. The lights were dim, but she could make out Phil’s shape in a chair at her bedside, skin slightly darker than she remembered. “They called you in?”

        “You passed the redline,” he said calmly, pouring water into a cup with a straw and holding it out to her. “Sitwell couldn’t contact our assets on the ground.”

        “Our network was blown.” She sipped her water, letting it sit in her mouth before swallowing. “How’d you find me?”

        His hands went to her restraints, removing them and rubbing the reddened skin before moving on. “It wasn’t easy.”

        Natasha rolled her eyes. She thought her bolthole secure, completely off the grid, but she was wrong. Coulson was a damn bloodhound when he wanted to be.

        “The information is implanted right above my hip,” she told him.

        He nodded. “I know. We removed it during surgery.” He leaned forward. “What happened?”

        Natasha recounted her mission slowly. Alexandra Mezzi was doing her job, setting up accounts and warming Jericho Talanta’s bed, when things started going sideways. Zodiac got word of SHIELD’s interest, and everyone involved was put under a microscope. It didn’t happen all at once, but the transition from easy work to suspicion wasn’t hard to spot if you knew where to look. Sergio Talanta was easy to deal with, but SHIELD already lost four agents to hostile intelligence. She had two choices: blow her cover or get caught on her own terms. The millionaire was a player, but he expected his women to be faithful. It was too easy; getting one of his men infatuated with her while she wrapped up the intelligence gathering part of her mission. By the time Talanta invited her to dinner at his villa she had the last of the information secured.

        He played his role perfectly: the wealthy, untouchable oligarch spurned by his young lover. There was ranting, threats, the requisite beating. That’s when things started going sideways. She’d counted on him ordering her execution. Talanta was squeamish when it came to wet work, and her new lover was the man he normally gave such tasks to. She didn’t know who was more shocked when he ordered her locked in his basement; her, or Omar. Instead of execution, he kept her locked away: fed, watered, and ignored so that she might see the ‘error’ of her ways. Escape would have been easy, but it would have blown her own cover and made any subsequent information she had meaningless as the terrorists moved to cover their tracks and dismantle anything Talanta had a part in.

        It took two weeks to convince him that she was sorry; that she was a silly little girl who didn’t understand how much he loved her. She went from the basement to having her roots touched up on the terrace, bruises covered with makeup. She planned on contacting a cut-out when Zodiac made their move. Once Talanta did his part the organizations had no further use for him. They killed him, his men, and anyone else present at the villa. She escaped in the chaos and made her way to Phuket, but the drop was burned and Zodiac very much a presence in the city. After the second day in her bolt hole she felt sickness creep in. She was close to contacting SHIELD directly via satellite phone when there was a series of knocks at her door.

        Natasha shifted and felt the telltale spike of pain that signaled broken ribs. Damn it, she hated letting herself get caught.

        “What’s the butcher’s bill?” she asked.

        “Arnold’s was KIA, a mugging gone wrong according to local law enforcement. Phet is MIA.”

        “And my tally?”

        Phil recounted her injuries with detachment. Six broken fingers, two broken bones in her foot, fractured ribs, a collection of contusions including a bruised kidney, and a rampant bacterial infection that was stubbornly resistant to antibiotics.

        She was silent for several minutes. “We have a mole.”

        “Fury’s handling it.”

        _Do not interfere_ , that’s what Phil’s tone meant.

        “You should get some sleep,” his words were gentle. “Pickup is in two more days.”

* * *

        This was such a mistake.

        “Come on, D! You’re acting like someone died.”

        Darcy forced herself to smile as Emma filled her glass again. “Sorry. Work’s been getting hectic.”

        Emma raised an eyebrow. “You work for science geeks. Hard science geeks. Define ‘hectic’.”

        Darcy rolled her eyes and tipped back her glass. When Emma called and asked if she wanted to meet up she should have said no, made another in a long line of excuses, but she couldn’t. Jane was at a conference in Seattle, Phil was still missing, and she was sick of climbing the walls at home. Fat Sat’s was like most other bars she’d been in; dim lighting, music, flat screens running just about every sport imaginable. Despite the rush of excitement on the drive up now she felt antsy and had to fight the urge to check her phone every five minutes to be sure she hadn’t missed a call from Phil. 

        Emma’s eyes went wide. “Who is it?”

        “Who?”

        The blonde squinted. “How long have we known each other?”

        “Three years, six months, ten days-“

        “Exactly!” She sounded triumphant. “And I know you. ‘Hectic’ is Darcy for man-trouble. You’re not sleeping with your boss, are you?” She took a swallow of beer. “Please tell me you aren’t sleeping with your boss.”

        “Emma, I’m not sleeping with my boss.”

        “Liar!” Emma looked her up and down. “I expected to meet my wingman tonight. Instead you’re all…subdued. You even wore the ugly glasses. What’s up with that?”

        Darcy fought the urge to simultaneously pull at her skirt and adjust the thick frames of her glasses. She had on a blue button down and black knee length skirt, basically what she wore to work that morning. Compared to Emma’s sparkly halter and low-riders she was positively staid. “Please… subject change.”

        “But…” brown eyes blinked. “I’ve been giving you the ‘go’ sign for half an hour and you haven’t even looked!”

        She sighed and turned. On her four o’clock was a group of guys: college age, maybe a few years older. T-shirts and jeans with tennis shoes. One of them smiled at her and Darcy rolled her eyes. “ How’s Benny?”

        Emma gave her a side-eye at the subject change, but filled Darcy in on her little brother and family adventures, which in her case were actual adventures. Emma’s nickname at State was Thorneberry for a reason.

        “-and she just up and decides she wants to marry him. My brother!” She laughed. “Mom threatened to send him to me until he turned eighteen if he wouldn’t stop talking about it. Dad gave his blessing.”

        Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Wait, isn’t Benny fifteen?”

        “Sixteen and two months, if you ask him,” the blonde refilled both their glasses. “So, Darcy Lewis, former student at State. How’s tricks?”

        Darcy launched into a careful recitation of her fake life. Jane was investigating radio galaxies at the VLA, and all she did was collate data and make sure the reports were filed. “Really, I have a lot of downtime,” she explained. “Jane goes insane sometimes, so I have to make sure she eats…and sleeps… and showers. Other than that,” she shrugged and lifted her glass. “Easy money.”

        Emma followed suit. “The best kind.” She half-turned to the bar. “Okay, where’s the food?”

        Her friend went off in search of their waiter and Darcy pulled out her phone. No new messages. No emails. No texts. Tonight made thirteen days of no contact, twenty since he left. She sniffed and dialed Phil’s number. The phone was still on his side of the bed, but she needed to hear his voice.

        There was a click after three rings. “Darcy.”

        “Phil!” She leaned forwards. “God…you’re home…” and she wasn’t and she felt about two inches tall.

        “Not quite,” Phil said. “I always did like that shirt on you.”

        Darcy spun around on her chair, searching the crowd. She caught sight of him near the bar, suit neat, lips curved in a small smile.

        She didn’t notice the tiny cheer that went up from the surrounding patrons when she flew into his arms, just buried her face as close to his neck as she could and _inhaled._ Phil’s arms were around her and he rocked just a little and _Jesus_ she was crying and he was _back._

        “Sorry about the wait.”

        She backed up and slapped him as hard as she could.

        There were more catcalls as she glared at him, but Phil’s expression didn’t change. He looked at her like she was the only person in the room, the only thing that mattered. He could have stopped the hit, she knew that, but he hadn’t and now one side of his face was reddening and her fingers were going numb.

        When she kissed him the cheering and clapping started again, louder this time.

        They kissed until she felt something tap her ankle, then again with more force. She tore herself away to see Emma standing next to them, two plates in hand and brown eyes wide and glittering. “So… not-boss?”

        “Not-boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> One more chapter!!! For this part, anyway ^_^


	6. Chapter 6

_Fuck shitty fuck shitty fuck fuck…_

        Darcy sat in her car with the engine idling. She was late. _Late_ late, and fuck her mother if this was something she anticipated. She could set a clock by her periods since she turned thirteen, the age she decided she didn’t want any little Darcy’s running around. Her mother had her when she was seventeen, went into labor barely an hour after graduating high school and she’d blamed her daughter for that ever since. If a person’s parenting style was based on how they were raised (thank you two semesters of psychology) she was never having children.

        When she got Period Tracker on her phone it was more for show than anything else. Something to bother her short-term boyfriend’s with when they started getting too comfortable. If there were two things Darcy Lewis knew they were her body and when the crimson tide was scheduled to start. She’d been busy that month, though, and when the buzzer went off on her cell she’d stared at it, and then decided it wasn’t worth the money.

        That was two weeks ago.

        _It’s okay. We’ve been careful. Very careful. Like Secret Agent careful. It’s just stress, that’s all. Stress and work and SHIELD and Jane flipping out about her paper getting accepted that’s spilling over onto you. You’ll wake up tomorrow and be on the rag and everything will be right with the world again._

        That settled, she put her car in park and grabbed her canvas bag, pointedly ignoring the box inside. A precaution, that’s all it was. Just a precaution. Phil was as paranoid as she was. There was no forgetting when it came to sex in the Lewis-Coulson relationship. Condoms were a necessity, and the only reason she wasn’t on birth control was because she’d yet to find one that didn’t give her all the listed side effects. She didn’t want kids. That didn’t mean she was willing to deal with heart attacks and strokes to keep from having them.

        The old station wagon clunked ominously as it cooled; the fan running for a few seconds after the engine shut down. She could afford a down payment on a new car (SHIELD was a pain in the ass, but they paid well), but she loved the old thing. She and Talula had traveled from Portland together, survived three years of college and a small alien invasion. She couldn’t give her up, not until the engine exploded.

        Darcy scuttled from the small parking lot to her building. It wasn’t _holy shit-balls_ cold, but it was cold enough and the sun was going down. Mail was a challenge, as usual. The Super refused to change out the old, outdated, prone-to-sticking mailboxes that lined the downstairs hall no matter how loudly she cursed or how many batches of honey muffins she baked. November cold made them that much harder to open. She was jiggling the key in the lock, trying to find the sweet spot, when a hand landed on her shoulder.

        “Hey, D.”

        Darcy looked up from the box and ripped her key out of the lock before taking two steps back. “What are you doing here, Mark?”

        He hadn’t changed in four years. Red hair, brown eyes, broad shoulders. He was wearing a suit instead of a t-shirt, his hair was shorter and styled, but it was still him. He shrugged. “Nothing. I was in town and thought I’d stop by.”

        She took another step back and reached into her bag. How had she forgotten how tall he was? “Well, you stopped by, now leave.” She looked at the door to Mrs. Gunner’s apartment, but the green wood stayed stubbornly closed. The woman would choose today to mind her own business.

        Mark smiled, and she felt the color drain from her face. “Don’t be like that D. I was in New Mexico for a convention, thought I’d look you up.” His smile grew broader as he eyed her. “You look good. A little on the thick side, though.”

        Her fingers closed around her tazer and she tugged, but it didn’t pull free. “I’m not listed.” She made sure she wasn’t. Several times.

        “No, but your mom and my mom are still friends,” he sounded so calm, so reasonable. She could see why people were fooled by it. She’d been. “Mom mentioned the conference, and Diane gave her your address.” He laughed. “I still can’t believe you moved to New Mexico.”

        It wasn’t until her back hit the wall that she realized they were moving as he spoke. He was close, close enough to touch her and why wasn’t she screaming? “You’re supposed to stay 200 yards away from me,” she managed to say with more bravado than she felt.

        His mouth twisted, and there, there was the Mark she knew. “I came 1500 miles to see you D, you can’t even invite me in?”

        Darcy tried to dart past him. She thought she’d made it, and then a hand closed around her wrist and brought her up short. She stumbled, lost her grip on her tazer and tried to fight the panic crawling up her spine. “Let me go.”

        Instead he pulled, bringing her closer.

        “Darcy.”

        Mark glanced behind him and dropped her wrist. 

        Phil stood behind the other man, his eyes on her. “Is there a problem?”

        “Who-” Mark started, but went quiet when Phil’s eyes cut to him.

        She tried to smile, but she knew it was sickly. “I’m fine, Phil.”

        He kept his eyes on Mark. “Why don’t you go upstairs?”

        She nodded and turned tail, taking the stairs two at a time. She had the door to her apartment opened, closed, and locked behind her in record time. Darcy pawed through her bag until she freed her tazer from the frayed material wrapped around it. Phil had his gun; he always had his gun, but… 

        The sound of the lock turning made her jump, but she kept her grip on her weapon. When the door opened she had the tazer aimed at chest height. 

        “Darcy?” 

        Phil’s head came around the corner. He entered the apartment, opening the door just enough to slip inside before closing and locking it. He approached her slowly, hands up. “Are you all right?”

        She nodded.

        “Here, let me have this.” Phil took the tazer from her, warm hands enfolding her own and she realized just how cold she felt.

        “So, um…” she giggled. “I guess we need to have the crazy ex-boyfriend talk, ya think?”

        By the time she was sitting down her hands had stopped trembling and Phil draped his coat over her shoulders. He sat the tazer close to her and kneeled in front of her. “Did he hurt you?”

        She shook her head. “No. Just scared the ever-lovin’ outta me.”

        His fingers brushed against her ear, and the world went slightly blurry when he removed her glasses, thumb brushing away the moisture gathering beneath her eye. “He’s gone, Darcy.”

        He waited until she nodded again to stand. He walked to the kitchen. She could hear dishes rattling, the tick of the stove turning on. “You ever do something really stupid?” Darcy sniffed, fingers tapping randomly on the tabletop. “I mean colossal ‘Oh my God, I just punched a hole in the universe’ stupid?”

        “Once or twice.”

        He came back to the table, oversized mugs of hot chocolate in hand. “Mark was like that, only ten times worse.” Darcy closed her eyes. She could remember how he looked when they first met; all smiles and jokes at Jess’ party. “We started dating the summer before senior year, and he was nice, you know? Flowers, balloons, all that.” She sniffed. “Mom loved him, kept going on about how I’d finally brought home someone worth something. Then he got weird.”

        _Darcy rolled over and picked up her phone. “Hello?”_

        _“What took you so long?”_

        _“Mark?” She looked at her clock, struggling to make out the blurry numbers. “It’s four in the morning.”_

        _“I called twice. Where are you?”_

        “It was like being in prison. He kept calling all the time, checking up on me.” She huddled into Phil’s jacket, the smell of his cologne kept her focused. “We broke up in November right before Thanksgiving.” And that was the first time he really scared her, with the yelling and slamming. “By mid-December he’d talked his way back into my life.” She cleared her throat and took a drink of cocoa, the warmth easing the knot in her chest. “We got engaged on Christmas. After that, he was worse.”

        Phil reached out and massaged her wrist, already darkening with bruises. “He hit you.”

        “No. But he grabbed, and pushed, and threatened.” She looked at her wrists. For weeks at a time they’d been bruised; yellow and green bands that bloomed into purple. She got into layering bracelets and bangles to hide them when it was too warm for long sleeves. “ Amanda’s mom saw the marks and called the police, helped me get a restraining order, everything.” And that was a nightmare, until the first time he got arrested for showing up at her house and realized he wasn’t in control any more. “He’s the reason I bought Sparky, and the one time I can use her on him she gets tangled in my purse.” She drained her cup. “I need a shower.”

        

        Phil cleared away Darcy’s mug and the jar of Mexican hot cocoa as the shower started. Mark Disteffino was a threat to Darcy, one that needed to be handled quickly and quietly. When the shower ran for five minutes he dug out his phone. 

        “Manheim Shipping and Receiving,” a placid female voice answered. “How may I direct your call?”

        “This is Agent Coulson, authorization zebra zebra three echo niner. I need a full dossier on Mark Disteffino, D-I-S-T-E-F-F-I-N-O, originally from Portland, Oregon. Search in relation to Darcy Lewis.” He caught sight of a package in her bag and moved the fabric to get a better look.

        “Authorization verified. How soon do you need the package?”

        He turned to the bathroom. “As soon as possible.”

* * *

        He hated New Mexico.

        It was hot and dry during the day, cold and dry at night. The only colors that existed outside carefully maintained lawns and parks was brown: brown dirt, brown shrubs, brown buildings. The desert teased the edge of every town he drove through getting back to Albuquerque, and half of those didn’t even show up on his GPS. He couldn’t understand why the AICPA wanted to have a convention here, but it came with perks. 

        Mark hummed to himself as the elevator climbed to his floor, fingers running along the edge of a business card. The redhead at the bar was all smiles and coy glances; a CPA from Tacoma from a firm he knew only by reputation, one he planned on stopping by as soon as he got back home. Darcy looked good too. A few pounds heavier, but he could deal with that. Her mother hadn’t been able to give him details, just the building she lived in, and what kind of person didn’t give their mother their full address? Diane was kooky, but that was taking it a step too far. 

        He opened the door to his room. He’d pressed her too hard yesterday, grabbing her like that. He’d go by tomorrow and apologize, maybe get some flowers, and ask her out to dinner. She couldn’t be- 

        “Hello, Mr. Disteffino.”

        Mark stopped short. The man was in the small sitting room, hands at his sides. “You’re-“

        “The man from Darcy’s apartment complex, yes.”

        The shrimp. “What’re you-”

        “Your full name is Marcus Alexander Disteffino, born February 25th, 1987 to Peter and Shelly. You currently work as a CPA in your uncle’s firm.” The man glanced down at his phone. “And you’re also three days behind on your rent.”

        He clenched his fists. “Who the fuck-”

        “That’s not important. What is important is that you have a flight on American Airlines back to Seattle in three hours. A taxi is waiting for you downstairs. The fare has been paid in advance.” He moved to the side, revealing his suitcase and carry-on bag, already packed. “The car you rented is being returned to Enterprise as we speak. You’re also never to attempt to contact Darcy Lewis again.”

        Mark laughed. “So, what? You’re fucking her now?” He unbuttoned his suit jacket. “I don’t know what she told you-”

        “She didn’t tell me anything.” The shrimp’s habit of interrupting him was starting to piss him off. “She didn’t have to. Three arrests and two restraining orders tend to speak for themselves. One of which you violated by coming to her apartment this afternoon.”

        He paled. “That’s in Oregon.”

        “Orders of protection apply across state lines.”

        Mark chuckled again. “And if I don’t? You’ll do what exactly?” The man looked at least fifty and like…well… like an accountant. “You’ll call the police?”

        The man tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think-“

        “You didn’t think. You’re in _my_ hotel room, you prick.” He started forward. “And-”

        He was on the floor.

        His face hurt, his _throat_ hurt, his arm was shoved behind him and something was pressing into his back and Jesus _fuck_. “Get the fuck off me!” the words came out as a croak. He couldn’t catch his breath, not with that weight on him. He shifted, and the pressure on his arm increased that much more.

        The pressure on his back moved, and something slim and dark came into his field of view with a metallic click and rested, upright, on the floor. “Hey,” he squirmed. “Hey man, it’s cool! It’s-”

        “I’m not going to shoot you,” the man said calmly. “I just needed your attention.” The gun barrel disappeared. “Now. You’re going to get on that plane, Mr. Disteffino, and you’re going to forget that you ever knew a woman named Darcy Lewis. If not, we’ll be having another, less cordial conversation in the future.”

        “Okay!” His arm twisted and he shouted. “Okay! I’m gone!”

        The weight on his back vanished. He stayed on the floor, fighting to catch his breath. Leather shoes came into his sight. “Thank you, for your cooperation.”

* * *

        Darcy blinked and rolled over, groaning when she saw the time. It was almost three in the morning, which meant she had four more hours to kill before she had to go in to work and she wasn’t tired. Having to explain to the Super why she should call the police if Mark reappeared took what little starch she still had out of her and required a second shower, which relaxed her enough to fall asleep around seven. She didn’t bother calling her mother. That was a fight she couldn’t deal with. 

        That was yesterday.

        Today was spent mostly in bed, cuddling with her body pillow and counting the hours until Phil reappeared. When she called Jane the astrophysicist hadn’t asked for details, just told her to come in when she was feeling better. The pregnancy test sat unused in the back of the bathroom cabinet, buried under layers of toiletries and her emergency towels. She had enough on her plate at the moment without adding more.

        Around noon after making sure Sparky was in working condition she made a detour into baking: cheese and bacon muffins for Jane, an apple pie for Mrs. Gunner (because it never hurt to bribe the gatekeeper), and cranberry bread for Phil. Bread that was currently packed away in the breadbox instead of being snacked on. Something was going on at the facility so Phil called earlier to say he couldn’t make it back, which sucked. Cuddling up to him was a surefire way to get back to sleep. She sat up, ignoring the cold air on her shoulders. She wasn’t going to get up and turn on the space heater, anyway.

        “Darcy?”

        She jerked. The kitchen under-lights were on, and she could make out a familiar suited shape on the couch. “Phil?” She climbed out of bed, dragging the comforter with her as she darted across the cold floor. Phil sat forward, two paper cups of coffee on the table. She folded herself onto the couch next to him. “What’s up?”

        He took a deep breath and handed her a cup. “Her name was Josephine.”

        Darcy’s brain short circuited. “Josephine?”

        “You asked if I’d ever done something stupid. World ending stupid. She was an agent, four years in, recruited from NSA. We met on an op in London.”

        She kept herself still and let him talk. About a tentative relationship that became something more. About three years spent with someone not her.

        “We had a mole. We knew it, we just couldn’t find it. When we did…” He swallowed. “She was always there, never on a mission, but a friend to someone who was: running dispatch, doing a thousand different things behind the scenes, things that didn‘t leave much of a paper trail.” He sipped from his cup. “When I found out she was under suspicion I started looking, really looking at her, at us. When I confronted her she tried to get me to turn, to help cover for her.” Phil looked at her for the first time. “By the time Fury drew the net closed an hour later she was gone.”

        Darcy cleared her throat. “So, she was just…gone?” She couldn’t imagine that, straight-laced, by-the-book Phil Coulson letting someone, letting a _traitor_ , go. She looked at him, the tenseness of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, and wondered how much that incident made him the man he was now.

        “We caught up to her a month later in Jakarta. I never asked what happened after that.”

        Darcy gathered the extra material from her comforter and threw it around him. She burrowed into his side and grabbed a hand. When he sighed she threaded her fingers between his. “Guess we both kinda suck at relationship choices.” It was meant as a joke, but the words were hollow.

        He kissed her knuckles. “Silver linings, Darcy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it for this section of Fucked Up Love Songs. More is on the Way in All the Words Of Mice And Men.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!! Hope you enjoyed ^_^


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